


A day in the life of Steve Rogers

by natalie_nebula



Series: weekend memories [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Complete, Domestic Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 18:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalie_nebula/pseuds/natalie_nebula
Summary: “When you’ve been sweet on somebody for over a hundred years, it can be kinda hard to open up to them about it— especially when that somebody’s your best friend”Steve and Bucky have always had this unspoken thing between them. In the aftermath of Thanos, Steve has to navigate what that means for him, and for the future. Endgame Fix-it.





	A day in the life of Steve Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> Disregard the scene in the actual movie where Steve creepily stares at Peggy through a window. If this movie had actually written Steve properly, this scene should have served as a catalyst for Steve moving on from Peggy, not going back to the past to pursue her again. Weirdo. 
> 
> Also, take a shot every time I write the word “warmth” or “sunlight,” or any time somebody cries and gets a back rub.
> 
> follow me on twitter @budgetzendaya
> 
> See more in this universe in the "weekend memories" series.

“Hey, Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

He could hear the window curtains gently flapping against the cracked wallpaper surrounding their bedroom window. They’d propped it open to let some air in, in an attempt to hold off the summer heat, and he figured the ambient New York traffic noise must have lulled him to sleep again. Either that or his heart was finally going. 

He was lying completely still, just staring up at the ceiling. His brittle bones felt like they weighed a thousand pounds and his undershirt and boxers stuck to him uncomfortably, drenched in sweat. 

The bed dipped slightly next to him as Bucky turned over. 

“You want some more water?”

“Nah, I’m just fine, Buck.” 

“You sure?”

Steve could hear it in Bucky’s voice; the sound of him making up his mind to head to the kitchen before he’d even stood up. 

“I’m fine, Buck, I’m just tired is all.”

He wasn’t even listening to Steve anymore.

“Sure you’re not feelin’ dizzy? It’s the middle of the day, pal. I know it’s hot but you shouldn’t be sleepin’ like this. I’m gonna go fill up your glass real quick.”

Steve groaned, but he was smiling as he turned over on his side to face the middle of the bed, _and_ Bucky.

“Well if we’re not supposed to be sleeping, then what are _you_ doin’ here, dummy?” 

Buck let out a laugh, loud and spontaneous, breaking out from the soft sleepiness of his usual voice. He grinned at Steve as he stretched one arm up above his head, then reached down to scratch at the bit of stomach exposed at the hem of his undershirt. They were inches apart, lying in their underclothes on their tiny mattress in their rundown one-bedroom apartment, like an island in the middle of Brooklyn. Steve’s whole body felt warm. 

“Watching over you, punk, like I always do. Who else is gonna be there to catch you next time you faint on the sidewalk outside the print shop?” 

“That was one time!” It _was_ one time, the summer before, when Steve had spent so much time drawing to meet his deadline that he forgot to drink water. He bopped Bucky on the hip with a closed fist, the brief moment of contact causing the bed to shake underneath them. 

“Yeah, that’s about two times too many. I’m serious, Stevie.”

“Serious about what?”

The smile had left Bucky’s face and his green eyes were hidden under a furrowed brow. “Let me take your commissions down tomorrow, I can drop them off on my way to work. This weather’s supposed to hold all week, and those posters you’ve been working on are pretty heavy, so—“

Steve shook his head and ran a hand through his damp hair, turning to look up at the headboard. He didn’t think he could focus, with how Bucky’s bright greens eyes had gone all soft, the way they did when he got worried— no, only when he was worried about _Steve_. 

“Bucky, I’ve told you a thousand times. I don’t need you fussing over me like this, I’m a grown man.” 

“I know that, Steve, but we _both_ know this weather don’t agree with you, and for some reason, you’ve been acting even more reckless than normal, not taking care of yourself properly.” Steve scowled, keeping the side of his face hidden in his pillow, his eyes focused on the far corner of the room. “I dunno, Stevie, ever since Sarah passed—“

Steve snapped his head up and stared Bucky dead in the face, “I’m _fine_ Buck, I swear. I don’t need you fussing over me when you got your own life to worry about.” His eyes drifted off again after that, but he could see Buck’s expression turn, the air falling out of his lungs. Steve knew he wasn’t gonna move until he got a response. There were times when Bucky spoke at a mile a minute, but there were also times he’d wait on you for a thousand years just to hear what you had to say. 

Steve sighed again, and his eyelids fluttered closed as he picked at the sheet with his fingers. “It’s just… I mean, after ma died, and you told me to move in with you, and I… I think, maybe… you got your whole life and dreams ahead of you, Buck, a real job, beautiful dames after you all the time, and I’m just… I’m just dead weight holding you down, y’know? I just… I don’t know if I’m worth all this to you.”

After another few seconds of silence, the whir of cars and people passing on the street gently floating in, Steve risked a glance up. Bucky’s whole face —his eyes, his smile, everything— was just _willing_.

“You ever think maybe I _like_ taking care of you, punk?” He reached out a hand and clapped it down on Steve’s shoulder, gently rubbing in circles with the pads of his fingers.

Steve’s whole body had gone stiff. “I can do it on my own, Buck,” he said, squirming under Bucky’s grip but making no effort to actually move away. 

Bucky let out another laugh, quiet this time, looking at him like he was the only thing in the whole damn world. “That’s the thing, Stevie, you don’t have to.”

All of a sudden, Bucky got up and turned towards the door. “I’m gonna grab us both some water, ok? Be back in a second.” And with that, he left the room. Steve listened to the gentle pad of his footsteps on the creaky old hardwoods as he laid his head back down, breathing in the smell of sweat and laundry detergent. With Bucky’s huge body suddenly gone, the tiny double bed felt like it was the width of the Atlantic. Steve just laid with his face pressed in the pillow, deep as it could go, his heart pounding against his chest. _At least it’s still going,_ he thought to himself, as he drifted off to sleep under the weight of the afternoon heat. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Steve—“

He woke up in a bedroom that wasn’t his. He could hear the air conditioner whirring and the sound of gentle footsteps coming from the hall. Birds were chirping outside as a beam of sunlight slowly crept across the floor towards the bed. He was alone, but he could hear quiet knocking and Sam’s voice just outside the door. “Time to get going.” 

He blindly reached out to the bedside table and grabbed a hold of his phone, checking the time. Then he turned and looked across the room. A black suit and tie were hung up in a clear garment bag on the outside of an old wooden dresser, a pair of shiny black loafers sitting neatly next to one another on the floor. _It’s time._

Steve sighed as he stretched both his arms up. For the first time in what felt like forever, he heard his bones crack, felt his muscles squeeze and tense up. The cuts and bruises all over his body were mostly healed, but they still stung when the bare skin on his arms and legs rubbed up against the blankets. He took a moment to stare up at the ceiling, lying on his back, arms folded over his stomach. God, he was tired. 

After what felt like an eternity, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. His body seemed to be on autopilot, drifting from the shower to the dresser, from brushing his teeth to tying his shoes, and eventually stepping into the passenger seat of a car, Sam beside him in the drivers seat. Sam kept his right hand firmly planted on the center console, silently offering it to Steve. An anchor. They didn’t talk. He just watched with a glazed look in his eye as they passed by endless rows of pine trees, stretching on and on forever. They were on their way to Tony’s house. 

 

* * *

 

After the funeral, Pepper had invited them all to stay for lunch. It was a quiet affair. Not everyone stayed. Those who did drifted in and out of the house, milling about on the lawn or keeping themselves busy in the house, helping Pepper with the dishes. Happy took Morgan for a walk around the lake. Steve sat and watched from the porch steps as they slowly disappeared down the trail, Morgan’s laugh carrying on the gentle breeze. 

“Hey,”

“Hey.”

Steve didn’t have to turn to know that Bucky was standing right behind him, but he waited for him to have a seat next to him on his own. The steps creaked as he sat down, but soon the wood settled and they drifted into a pleasant silence again. Steve knew Bucky could see them walking down by the lake too, knew he must be watching. 

“Did you two ever get the chance to—“

“Make up?” Steve didn’t turn to look at him, just kept his eyes on the water. “Yeah, sort of. We didn’t talk for a while, but, I mean, this never would have happened if we hadn’t— if _he_ hadn’t reached out to me, y’know?” Steve suddenly felt the weight of his hands in his lap, “But, I mean… there’s never really enough you can say, is there.” 

He felt Bucky shift a little. “Yeah, never enough time…” 

“Or the right words.” They both turned and looked at each other. Bucky’s face was stern, but Steve gave him a small smile, and that was enough to get Bucky smiling too, if only for a moment. The silence drifted back in again, this time lasting a while longer. They sat and listened as the birds chirped and the wind rustled the tree branches. Car doors closed and engine noises disappeared down the road. The breeze off the lake was nice and cool, and gently blew Bucky’s hair back before he tucked it behind his ear. The only heat came from the mid afternoon sun and the energy radiating in the inches between them. 

When Bucky finally spoke up, it didn’t even register to Steve the first time around. 

“What’d you say, Buck?”

“What’ll you do now.”

“Now that what?”

“Now that it’s all over.” 

Steve’s gaze drifted back down to his lap as he rolled the question around in his mind. He was drawn back to the hallway at the V.A. in Washington, talking to Sam after a group therapy session. _Well, what do you like?_

“I don’t know,” he sighed, and shifted his right hand to the space between them on the porch steps. “We may have reversed what happened but… things’ll always be different.”

“Sure will be, but… that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” Steve’s eyes were still trained on the lake, as Morgan and Happy finally reappeared on the other side, holding hands as they headed back towards the house. He didn’t have to turn to know that Bucky was smiling.

 

* * *

 

Steve’s phone buzzed in his hand and he flipped it over to find a text from Scott Lang. 

 

_Have any more questions about the device before you go?_

 

He turned and looked over his shoulder. Sam and Bucky were helping set up the pad, while Bruce fiddled with the control panel. He quickly typed out a reply.

 

_All set_

_Thanks again Scott_

 

Another buzz a few seconds later. Steve chuckled to himself as he read the message.

 

_Anything for you Cap!_

_But can I ask_ you _something before you leave?_

_You don’t have to answer_

 

_Go for it_

 

_Why are you doing this?_

 

“Alright, Steve, we’re just about ready to go,” Bruce said, the machine finally coming to life. Steve looked back at Sam and Bucky, joking about how ridiculous the contraption was. He couldn’t help but smile. 

 

_Tony told me to get a life_

_Thought I’d follow his advice for once_

 

Bruce called for him again, and he sneakily placed his phone face-down next to the controls. He wouldn’t exactly need it where he was going. He stepped over to the time pad, the stark white of his suit standing out against the beautiful greens and browns of the forest. Sam gently handed him the case with the stones and they grinned at each other. He took a step back as Steve reached his hand out, calling mjolnir. 

Sam laughed, “Showoff.”

Bruce looked up at him from the monitor. “Alright, Steve. You have the time and location of each stone pre-programmed into your suit. All you gotta do now is just take em’ back to where they came from. You should have more than enough Pym Particles for all six stones, and you can take all the time you need on your end, but for us it should only take five seconds. Understand?”

Steve gave him a nod, then he turned to Bucky. He stood there with his hands stuffed in the pockets of one of Steve’s jackets, the warmest smile in the world plastered on his dumb face. Steve set his things on the ground as Bucky quietly walked up to him and pulled him into a tight hug, gently patting him on the back. After a moment, he pulled away, still holding onto Steve’s right shoulder, rubbing circles with the pads of his metal fingers. 

He chuckled and shook his head. “Gonna miss you, buddy.”

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘till I get back,” Steve couldn’t help but smile too.

“How could I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Bucky pulled him in for one last quick hug and leaned close, whispering in Steve’s ear, “ _Thanks, Cap.”_

Steve felt like he was gonna melt. 

Bucky stepped back, and Steve stepped on to the pad with mjolnir and the stones. As Bruce started his countdown, he looked between his two friends, Sam none the wiser but Bucky giving him the same shit-eating grin he’d always given Steve when he got into trouble. Suddenly, the mask flipped up on the suit and he was engulfed in a flash of light as he shrunk down into the quantum realm, Bucky’s face imprinted on the inside of his eyelids. 

 

* * *

 

“Coming back in three, two, one—“ Another bright flash of light and a cloud of smoke burst from the time pad as Steve’s body reappeared. This time, his hands weren’t quite as full, which was good because he had other concerns; mostly the fact that the suit now hung over him like a gigantic blanket and the arms and legs were all bunched up. He couldn’t really see quite right either, and had to readjust the helmet before he noticed Sam and Bruce standing directly in front of him freaking out. When he finally popped the helmet off, he could have sworn their eyes came out of their heads.

“What the _hell—_ Bruce! What the hell happened to him?” Sam had his hands on Steve’s shoulders and looked as if he wanted to shake him, but was afraid to try.

Bruce could barely stutter out a reply as he rushed back and forth between the control panel and the machine, “I-I don’t know. Scott did it by accident when we were doing our first round of tests. I thought Tony and I fixed it a while ago.”

Sam snapped back at him, “You _knew_ this could happen?” Then he turned back to Steve with a deadly serious look in his eye. “Steve, how are you feeling? Please tell me you’re ok. What happened in there? Why are you so… small?”

Sam knelt down in front of the “new” Steve Rogers, all five and a quarter feet and 110 pounds of him.

Steve laughed as he gently moved Sam’s hands from his shoulders. “I’m fine, Sam. I promise.”

Sam took a step back for a moment, getting a better look at him. “Is this…you from before? Before the serum, before—“

“Captain America?” Steve chuckled, “Yup, this is me. Just regular old Steve Rogers.” 

Sam nodded and finally cracked a smile, “Lookin’ good, man.” 

“Thanks,” Steve smiled back, and they both turned as the control pad Bruce was fiddling with let out a couple of loud beeps. 

“Alright, Steve, I’ve readjusted the settings on the pad, if you let me fiddle with your wristband I think I can get you back your old—“

Steve raised a hand and gently cut him off, “Bruce, it’s fine, I’m alright.”

Bruce paused, taken aback at first. Then he sighed, a little defeated, and nervously adjusted his ginormous glasses. “Well, could you at least tell me what happened in there?” 

As soon as Bruce asked the question, Steve’s eyes found Bucky, standing right where he was five seconds ago, same big dumb grin on his face, only this time his eyes were watering and a tear was streaming down his cheek. 

“I got a life.” Steve gently bent down and leaned his shield up against the pad, flicking the release button on his suit and stepping out in an old pair of trousers and a flannel button-up covered in paint splotches. Bucky started to walk towards him but he shot him a look and then glanced back down at the shield. Sam was still standing next to him with his arms crossed, slowly but surely putting things together. He turned to his new best friend, and that same old warmth started to fill him, from his feet all the way up into his chest. 

He cleared his throat, “Sam, I know this is a lot to ask, but I’d like you to have this.” He held up the beautiful, shining shield for him as best he could. It was a lot of weight for him but he could still handle it. “I think you could do a lot of good with it, a lot more than I could now.”

Steve swore he could hear Sam’s heartbeat from where he was standing, a loud thud echoing through the forest. He looked down at the shield and gently took it into his arms, gazing into his reflection in the red, white, and silver metal. Then he looked back up at Steve, happiness radiating off of him in waves. 

“Thank you, man.”

“No, Sam, thank _you._ ” 

Steve watched as Sam slid the shield on to his arm, trembling as he held the star up to his chest. “How do I look?” 

Steve couldn’t help but grin, “Not half bad. Just promise me one thing, alright?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t ask where I got it from.” 

 

 

* * *

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck.”

They were walking back now, back to the ruins of the old Avengers facility. Bucky was pulling a wagon behind him full of technology that neither of them fully understood. They were trailing behind Bruce and Sam (mostly because of Steve). Up ahead, Sam was talking excitedly while he held up the shield. For the first time in years, Steve really felt the air on his skin again. His hearing was worse but for some reason, the sounds of the forest seemed louder, like he had just come up from being underwater. He felt himself wheeze a little every time he took a shallow breath, a slight tickle creeping up into his throat. He wasn’t scared or worried though, only calm. For every step Bucky took next to him on the path, he took two. 

“So, uh, where to next, bud?”

“What, you mean besides the car—“

“ _Steve.”_ Bucky was smiling at Steve’s joke, but Steve could take a hint when he saw one. He let out a breath he must have been holding in since he came back.

“Honestly? I still don’t really know. I mean, this body can’t do as much, but just ‘cuz I’m retired doesn’t mean I have to sit around doing nothing all day, right?” 

“You could always go back to doing your art.” _Just like the good old days, huh._ Steve had never gotten over how much Bucky had seemed to love his art, even when it was hardly paying the bills and Steve felt like an absolute leech. Bucky would pour over his work and gush about every little detail. Those were the moments Steve really thought his heart might just give out right then and there.

All of a sudden, Steve felt like he had a million butterflies moving up through his throat, ready to burst out of his mouth and fly away. He tried his hardest to hold down his next question but it just wouldn’t stay put. “Do you… wanna live together again?” 

The time between Steve asking and Bucky answering felt like a million years, even though it was barely a few seconds. Bucky suddenly stopped walking and turned halfway towards Steve. The calm breeze once again drifted between the trees and tousled Bucky’s hair. This time, Steve couldn’t take his eyes off him. For the first time in a hundred years, he looked _up_ at Bucky, as he gently tucked a loose strand behind his ear with his metal hand. 

“Y’know, Sam asked me to join the Avengers today.”

Steve audibly gasped.

“Buck, that— that’s wonderful!” His whole body was buzzing and he could barely string three words together while he waited for Bucky to continue. “Are you—“

“Gonna join? Yeah, I’d like that,” He grinned and tucked his hands back in his pockets, kicking at a pebble on the dirt path in front of them. “Put all this strength to good use, y’know?”

Steve nodded, “That’s very noble of you, Buck.” 

“Thanks, Stevie, I mean, if you wanna call being able to sleep at night ‘noble’. But I mean, we can only do all that we can, right?” 

“Right.” Now Steve was the one with his hands in his pockets as they started walking again in silence. Sam and Bruce were now leagues ahead of them, and their voices barely registered against the breeze and the ambient noise of the forest surrounding them. Just a little ways up ahead and they’d reach the van, pack up, and head home. Wherever that was. 

Bucky suddenly coughed, then cleared his throat. Steve turned to look at him, but Buck kept his eyes forward. “Y’know, Stevie, we can, uh, still live together, even if I’m working, alright? We can find a place in Brooklyn if you want, nice brownstone. Like we always said we would, back in the good ol’ days.” 

Steve laughed, a gentle heat coursing through his veins, as he swung his hands behind his back and looking further down the path. The sun was setting over the horizon, over the ruins of the old base, his old life. Just up ahead, he could see Sam holding the shield, silhouetted in the sunshine. “Sure thing, Buck. I mean, what would a big dummy like you do without me, huh?”

 

* * *

 

 

_18 Months Later_

 

* * *

 

Steve abruptly awoke to the sound of his phone buzzing on the bedside table. The window pane cast a beam of light on the ceiling, stretching down over the bedsheets onto his bare chest, warming his skin. Someone had opened the curtains for him. His shoulder ached as he flipped over and blindly reached for the phone. When he glanced at the screen, he smiled and immediately hit the notification.

 

_1 new voicemail_

 

_“G’mornin’ Stevie. I know you don’t like bein’ up so early, on account of you bein’ 500 years old an all, so I didn’t wanna wake you. Just thought I’d leave you a message, so uh, you didn’t have to wake up alone this mornin—_

_Fury gave us some intel on possible terrorist activity in London and we flew out pretty early. I’m actually over the Atlantic right now. Should just be recon. If all goes well, I’ll probably be home for dinner tonight, but, y’know… don’t stay up waitin’ for me or anything._

_We’re about to do our briefing so I gotta wrap this up but… I miss you, bud. Don’t forget to take your medicine, please, and don’t stay cooped up inside all day working on that painting. Get some fresh air, it’s good for ya._

_Alright, bye Steve.”_

 

After the message cut off, Steve set the phone down beside him on the bed, rolled over on his back, and let out a huge sigh, a big stupid grin plastered all over his face. One morning, a little while after he and Sam— _Captain America,_ Sam Wilson— had started going on missions together, Steve had woken up early to an empty bed and a notification from Bucky on his phone. His voice in that first message was timid and soft, like he had recorded it in the bedroom and was trying his hardest not to wake Steve. He still had that first message saved on his phone, along with every other message since then. Steve chuckled, imagining Bucky asking Sam for help with his phone, but being too embarrassed to tell him why. Bucky had always been a sap, he was just pretty good at pretending like he wasn’t in front of other people. _Not Steve, though._ Sam didn’t know they shared a bed (even though they lived in a townhouse with three bedrooms), and he figured nobody really _needed_ to know. Some things were just the way they always were. 

Steve _wanted_ to drift back to sleep, basking in the heat of the morning sun like a cat, but he wasn’t dead and he had things to do. As he stretched his arms above his head and yawned, he heard his joints cracking underneath his skin, a sound he was still getting used to after so many years of carrying the shield. 

He shuffled into the bathroom and flicked on the light, still a little taken aback by the man he saw looking back at him in the mirror. His face was mostly the same, if a little less full, but looking down at his body… He reached into the drawer beside the sink and pulled out his pill organizer. Cupping his hands under the faucet for some water, he managed to swallow all six pills at once. Even with modern medicine and a steady income, it still wasn’t easy keeping himself going. He watched as he swallowed and his adam's apple bobbed up and down, sticking out from his pale, thin neck. It sent out a shiver that rippled through his bony shoulders and down into his chest. 

After brushing his teeth and pulling on a shirt —one of Bucky’s sweatshirts, now covered in paint splotches— he fumbled down the creaky wooden stairs to whip himself up some breakfast. Bucky had opened the curtains on the bay window too, looking out over the street. It was a residential neighborhood so it wasn’t that busy, but people were still out and about. Cars whizzed by, heels and loafers clicked against the sidewalk, birds flitted about the trees and bushes. For all that had changed in the last hundred years, there was a lot that wasn’t all that different. 

In fact, Steve figured the house was the most different. He and Buck had always dreamed of a place like this. They weren’t the type to indulge in luxuries by any means, but the beautiful bricks and old window panes, the hardwood floors and the sunroom at the back, it all felt like a quiet dream sometimes. He remembered him and Buck sitting out on the stoop of old houses like this, eating ice cream on a hot summer afternoon and licking their fingers when it started to melt. Bucky would always say he was gonna buy a house like that one day, that Steve could live with him in the spare room and he’d set up his easels for him by the big bay window, where the light hit just right. 

Steve grinned as he sipped his coffee, sitting down in the sunroom next to the portrait he had been working on. He looked out over the garden and watched as a pair of squirrels chased each other in circles through the grass, letting the coffee warm him up along with the sunshine. He glanced over at his current work in progress and felt a sharp pain in his chest.

As an artist, he no longer had to rely on commissions from shop owners looking for a new window display or a print ad in the Times. Even though he was retired, he was still Captain America, and people would bid top dollar for his original pieces. He kept what he needed to keep the lights on (and a little extra), and donated the rest to charity. This piece, though, wasn’t going up for auction. 

A beam of light slowly moved across Nat’s face, lighting up the green of her eyes. _Buck was right,_ He thought, _the light does hit just right in here._ His reference had been a candid of her, taken after… after _the snap_ , the first one. Her hair was long and the red had grown back in, beautifully falling in a loose braid behind her right shoulder. She was smiling, laughing at something Steve had said, and he’d snapped the photo just in the nick of time. He was still doing the finishing touches, working on the shadows and highlights, the contours of her face, her dimples. He already knew the spot on the wall in the guest bedroom where he was gonna hang it; the tree out in the garden cast a beautiful, haunting shadow on the wall in the afternoon, like a crown of leaves. He worked away the rest of the morning in silence, his attention drawn to Nat’s face while the world outside slowly woke up. 

 

* * *

 

Midday was spent tidying up the house. A couple of World War II vets weren’t exactly the cleanest fellas in the world, but Steve tried his best to change his habits now that he had a lot more free time on his hands. He was sitting in the master bedroom in the center of the bed, folding clean laundry at a leisurely pace. He had the BBC pulled up on his tablet at a low volume, listening for any possible updates on Buck and Sam. He knew it was highly unlikely they’d show up on the news if they were only going for intel, and what’s worse was if they _did_ show up it would likely be bad news, but for some reason, Steve couldn't stop himself from listening.

As he started on folding a stack of Bucky’s undershirts, he heard something that brought him pause:

“This just in, reports on a bomb scare at a museum in central London. The museum patrons, including a group of school children, have been evacuated and Scotland Yard is currently on the scene.” Steve continued folding on autopilot while he watched the report, his fingers tensing around the edges of the shirt, making new wrinkles. “According to government officials, Captain America and his team were in London earlier today investigating a plot by an anti-immigrant group to bomb several buildings throughout the city, including the museum. The suspects involved were intercepted by Captain Wilson's team before their plan could be fully executed, and have been turned in to police custody.” 

Steve let out a heavy breath, a wave of relief washing over him. They showed a clip of Sam on screen, talking to Scotland Yard and then interacting with some of the school children. He had the shield clipped to his back in between his wings, which were now painted a striking red, white and blue. They briefly cut to Bucky, who was also talking to police. He looked tired but focused, his dark metal arm on full display.

Steve looked down at the soft white t-shirt in his lap, thin and stretched, softened by a hundred washes and a hundred more wears. Gently, he raised it up and pressed his whole face into it, taking a deep breath in from the bottom of his lungs. He smelled the clean smell of dryer sheets, but he also smelled a little deodorant and musk that still lingered after the wash, the same way their sweat used to linger in the still, warm air of their old apartment. He could hear cars in the street outside, people laughing, and the sound of Buck’s footsteps as he padded off to the kitchen for a glass of water. 

 

* * *

 

Even though it had been over a year since Steve had retired, his new-old body still gave him an air anonymity as he walked the streets of New York. Sure, he was still a public figure (though now a private citizen), and people would occasionally come up to him and ask to take pictures or just say hello, but for the most part, he was just another face in the crowd. He mostly caught whispers and glances: _“Is that who I think it is?” “Wow, I didn’t think he’d be that small.”_ He figured the world must be getting used to his body too. 

Some days he would just walk for the hell of it, enjoy the weather, watch and listen as the city came to life. It was a good way to get inspiration. He’d sit at a café or on a park bench and just people watch, sketchbook on his lap just in case. Sometimes, a certain tableau would catch his eye; a little girl running after a ball, an elderly woman feeding some birds, a couple holding hands while they sipped their morning coffee. He’d sketch it down quickly, in the moment, and then put it in an old filing cabinet in his studio back at home, save it for later. Sometimes he’d pull out the old sketches when he felt uninspired and use them as a reference for something larger. Other times, he and Buck would sit on the couch, curled up next to each other, and look through them all. Steve would stop and tell him the little stories behind each drawing, and Bucky would listen with rapt attention. _Like he was the only thing in the whole damn world._

Today, though, he was on a mission. Shuri had called him the week before, telling him about her children’s STEM program in the city, and how she’d stumbled upon this sweet little after-school art program that was in need of some extra help. He’d taken the train over the bridge into Manhattan and then transferred over until he made it to 125th. He fiddled with his sketch pad while he sat on the train, doing quick little doodles of people on their phones, listening to music and playing games. All Steve had were the sounds of the train car screeching and clanging along the old tracks, nice and familiar. 

When he finally arrived at the place, it was right about the time kids would be getting out of classes and people seemed to be rushing to get things ready. He shuffled into the building discreetly. Floor to ceiling windows faced the street, letting light into the bright, colorful foyer, with two classrooms on either side. An ongoing mural spread from the floors, up the walls and onto the ceilings, like a vine growing up the side of a house, covered in blooming flowers. It had everything a kid could possible come up with, from simple hand prints to rainbows, robots, and unicorns. Steve couldn’t help but smile. 

“Oh, hello, Mr. Rogers, so glad you could come in today,” A bright voice floated in from one of the classrooms. A young woman with dark skin and short curly hair peeped out into the hallway, wearing jeans and a bright yellow t-shirt, covered in paint stains and glitter. “I’m Candace, we spoke over the phone?”

“Ah yes, wonderful to finally meet you,” Steve grinned as he shook her hand, trying his best to maintain the firm grip he was used to. Candace couldn’t have been over 5’7”, but Steve still wasn’t quite used to looking _up_ at people again. “Anything you guys need down here, I’m happy to help. Oh— and, Steve’s just fine."

Candace’s smile made her face absolutely glow. “Well, Steve, thanks again for coming down to help out. I figured today we’d just have you sit in on one of our classes and get a feel for how we run things around here.”

Steve nodded, “Sounds like a plan.” She led him into the classroom on the left, which had lower tables and chairs, with a colorful rug off to the side, and tiny beanbags and pillows strewn about.

“This is where the younger kids come, kindergarten through second grade. It’s a lot of making sure they wash the glue off their hands and don’t cut themselves with the scissors.” She had a charmingly subtle laugh, a lot like Bucky. “Today they’re gonna be making butterflies out of paper and then displaying them on the flowers over here.” On the far wall was a pre-made display of cutout paper flowers in a meadow, surely large enough to fit several butterflies cut out of construction paper. “I’ll be instructing them, you can just pick a table to sit at and help them out a little. The parent volunteers usually do the projects too, so if you’d like—“

Steve let out a chuckle, “I would _love_ to make a paper butterfly.” 

 

* * *

 

What a few moments ago was an empty classroom was now buzzing with life, children’s excited voices bouncing off every surface. Steve had introduced himself to several of the parent volunteers, but ended up at a table near the back by himself with just a gaggle of giggling children to keep him company. He didn’t mind one bit.

At first, they didn’t recognize him, but a confident little girl named Shawna asked him what his job was and it was _all_ over. Soon, they were clamoring all over him with questions about living in “the olden days,” fighting aliens and robots, and being friends with the _real_ Captain America, Sam Wilson. Eventually, though, they settled into their projects and Steve went back to being the guy who helped them use the safety scissors. 

“Wow, Shawna, I love what you’ve done with the glitter on the wings.” Steve smiled as he looked over at the explosion of glitter on her butterfly’s wings, and also all over the table and her hands.

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers,” She replied, grinning up at him, then promptly going back to drawing eyes and a smile on her butterfly. It turned out the project was similar to making a valentine, where the children folded the paper in half and cut the butterfly out so its wings would be parted open, like it was about to take off. Steve had barely had time to make progress on his own little paper bug, seeing as he was surrounded by a bunch of seven year olds with scissors in their hands. It was a dark blue color, and he’d gone in with a thick red crayon and drawn some stripes on the wings. 

He felt a soft pat on his right arm. “Um, Mr. Rogers, I finished my butterfly. Do you like him?” The tiny voice next to him asked. According to Candace, the owner of the voice, Aaron, tended to be rather shy and quiet. When Steve had sat down at the far table, Aaron had immediately planted himself in the chair right next to him, scooting it as close to him as possible. 

Seeing Aaron’s bug made his heart melt into jelly. It was a soft yellow color, with two googly eyes, one much bigger than the other, some rainbow scribbles on the wings, and a big pink piece of felt shaped like a heart. “I think he’s beautiful, Aaron. Is that his heart? It’s so big!” 

Aaron nodded, very serious, “Yes, he has a big heart because he’s nice, and, uh, he’s a good friend.” 

“Oh wow, does he have a name?”

Aaron let out a giggle and went to cover his mouth. “His name is Mr. Rogers Butterfly.” He reached out with his little arms and wrapped Steve in a hug from the side. Steve’s felt like his heart was about to burst. 

Steve returned the hug and then patted the young boy on the back. “I’m _honored_ , Aaron. Thank you. Are you ready to hang him up?” He held Aaron’s hand as they walked over to the wall together. Aaron picked a spot on a daisy petal, next to a few other butterflies, and Steve helped him tape it to the wall, then gave him a high five. 

Soon after, Miss Candace (as the children called her) let everyone know it was time to clean up, and Aaron rushed back to the table to put his supplies away. Steve watched as parents began filing into the hallway, peeking inside the classroom, their eyes lighting up when they saw their children. He felt his breathing slow for a moment, and his heart began to pound in his chest. Candace smiled at him from across the room and he smiled right back. God, he loved this feeling.

 

* * *

 

“Honey, I’m _ho-o_ me!”

It was a little after six o’clock. Steve was in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water and thinking about dinner when he heard the front door open, Bucky’s voice ringing down the hall. 

He laughed, “Come into the kitchen, dumbass!” Bucky had always been one to tease, but the impact of all that time spent with Sam was not lost on Steve in the slightest. He walked into the kitchen in the middle of kicking his shoes off, still wearing half his tac gear around his waist, his hair hanging loose and sweaty around his chin. He leaned up against the island counter and smirked.

“Hey, Stevie,” His voice was softer now, but still smooth, the way he used to approach a dame at the bar. “How’s it going?”

“Was a lot better before you showed up, stinkin’ up the place.”

Bucky laughed deep in his belly as he rounded the island and came to stand next to Steve. He opened his arms up and motioned for Steve to come closer.

He’d always done this, ever since they’d gotten too old to share a bed together but they kept doing it anyway. Bucky would pretend he was the one offering Steve affection, even though they both knew he was just too much of a dummy to ask for what he wanted. 

Steve melted into Bucky’s arms, wrapping around his thick waist. His body was bigger than it was in the 40s, firmer too. Sometimes he forgot how much they’d _both_ changed over the years. 

Bucky lifted his flesh arm up to cradle Steve’s head, gently pressing Steve’s face into his chest while he played with his hair. Steve breathed in deeply, trying to remember everything about how Bucky felt, the warmth and the sound of his heartbeat, even how gross he smelled. Steve chuckled under his breath and sighed, “You did good, Buck.”

He couldn’t see Bucky smiling, but he could feel it, “Mmmm… just glad to be home.” He pulled back slightly to look at Steve’s face, still gently holding the back of his head, now with both hands. Steve kept his arms firmly wrapped around Bucky’s middle. Over the years, the space between them seemed to keep getting smaller, but there always _was_ space. Every second Steve looked up into Bucky’s eyes, he thought about the fact that their lips were only a few inches apart, breathing the same air. They were standing in _their_ house, in _their_ kitchen, wrapped in each others arms, after Bucky’d come home from work, _from the war_ , and all of a sudden he felt like an imposter. 

But it didn’t matter, because the moment ended when Bucky glanced over at the clock and saw the time. “Damn, it’s quarter past six already? I told Sam he could come over for dinner, so we should probably figure that out soon.”

Steve rubbed Bucky’s back one more time before dropping his hands to his sides with a thud. “Yeah, I can probably fix something up real quick—“

“Oh no, Stevie, it’s fine, I’ll buy us takeout!” All of a sudden, Bucky was back on the other side of the island again, whipping out his phone, “I was the one who invited him for dinner, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that.” 

Steve shook his head. Once again, Buck had already made up his mind. “Alright fine, order takeout.”

Bucky laughed. “Better than forcing _Captain America_ to eat Steve Rogers’ cooking, right?” 

 

* * *

 

They ended up ordering from the Thai place down the street. Sam told Steve all about their mission that day, with a little less of the usual embellishment due to the nature of the assignment. Nonetheless, it was quite entertaining, and Steve watched as Bucky sat back and smiled at whatever stupid tangent Sam’s story had wandered off on in that moment. 

Afterwards, Bucky headed upstairs to take a shower while Sam and Steve stayed behind and tidied up. For a few minutes, all Steve could hear was the sound of the taps running upstairs and dishes clanging together. It was a companionable silence. Eventually, though, Sam had to speak up. 

“I heard the message he left you this morning.” Steve could _hear_ the smirk on his face. “I can see why you kept him around all those years, I mean, ignoring the fact he’s annoying as hell.” 

Steve chuckled, “Yeah, well, you get used to it after a few decades.” 

“Yeah, I bet.” 

The silence came back again, and it was nice. Bucky was taking his time in the shower. They were about done with the dishes when Sam turned to him again.

“He worries about you, y’know. Constantly.”

Steve kept his eyes on the plate he was drying. “He’s been worried about me since the day I was born.” 

Sam scoffed at him, “Well, he must love you a whole lot, ‘cuz you seem to be the only thing on his mind, even when he’s working.”

Steve paused for a moment, thinking. He didn’t mean to say his thoughts out loud. “I don’t know if we’ve ever said that to each other.”

Sam looked up from the counter. “What, you mean ‘I love you’?” Steve didn’t respond. “You know it’s ok for guys to say that to each other now, right?” 

Steve snapped back at him, “I been out of the ice for fourteen years, Sam.” 

Sam’s voice lowered, “You know that’s not what I’m saying.” He gently put down the glass he was holding and closed the gap between them in two steps. “Talk to me, man. There’s two sides to this equation, aren't there.” 

Damnit, Sam knew him too well.

Steve sighed and started tapping his fingers on the countertop, not making eye contact. 

“We share a bed, y’know.” His voice was imperceptibly quiet. “Always have. Couldn’t afford anything better until now, but—“ He paused for a moment, waiting for Sam to rescue him but… he knew he wouldn’t do that. He had to be the one to say it. “We don’t talk about it. All these years Bucky’s been taking care of me, never said nothin’ about it. That’s just how it was— how it _is,_ y’know? And I’m scared—“

“Scared of what happens next?” 

“ _Scared that it’s all gonna fall apart.”_ Suddenly, Steve was struggling to hold back tears. One escaped and rolled down his cheek. His voice trembled. “Y’know, when you’ve been sweet on somebody for over a hundred years, it can be kinda hard to open up to them about it— especially when that somebody’s your best friend.”

Sam took one step closer, still giving Steve space but preparing to go in for a hug. Eventually, Steve turned and grabbed hold of him. Sam’s chest felt different: not quite as soft or as wide, but _much_ warmer. Or maybe that was just Steve. 

“I can’t afford to _lose_ him, not now, not after all this. If I say the wrong thing now, what am I gonna _do_ —“

“Shhhh, it’s alright, man.” Sam gently rubbed circles into his back. Steve pulled away to look at him while he spoke. “Y’know the guy I met all those years ago, back in Washington? He was willing to _die_ for Bucky Barnes. Bucky _could’ve_ killed you, easily, but he _didn’t._ He pulled you out of the water, Steve.” Steve’s eyes were starting to dry as he listened. “Now, maybe I got this all wrong, but this whole thing is a two-way street, right? You _both_ need each other, and Buck _knows_ that. Why do you think he’s fussin’ over you all the time, huh?” Steve smiled and Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder. “All I’m saying is, no matter what you two are to each other, I promise you, you’ll _always_ have him _._ Trust me, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. The way he looks at you when you walk in the room? Pfft, It’s like you’re the only guy in the whole damn world.” 

Steve looked down at his feet. “Y’know, Buck and I, we’ve both changed a lot over the past hundred years—” When he looked back up, Sam was smiling down at him. “But you’re right, _that_ never changes.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Steve—“

“Yeah, Buck?”

They were getting ready for bed. Steve was already beneath the covers, fiddling with his tablet. He had on a very nice pajama set Pepper had bought him for Christmas, with long sleeves to keep him warm. Bucky stepped out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, hanging low on his hips. 

“Did you go out at all today? Weather seemed pretty nice when I left this morning.” 

Steve scoffed at him as he climbed into bed. “ _Excuse_ you, I have a life too, y’know.” Bucky grinned as Steve gently kicked him. “I actually started volunteering today.”

Bucky perked up. “Where at?”

“It’s in Harlem,” Steve was still scrolling on his tablet but he wasn’t really looking, “an after school program where kids come and do art. Shuri connected me to the head teacher, Candace.” 

“You teach em’ how to draw?”

Steve smiled as he set his tablet down on the bedside table. “No, I mostly just helped out. We decorated paper butterflies. One of the kids named his after me.” Steve knew thinking of Aaron must have made his face light up, because Bucky sure noticed. 

“Was he a handsome butterfly?” Steve reached across the bed and whacked him again, this time on his chest. “Really, though, Stevie, that’s wonderful. I bet the kids really loved you.”

Steve shrugged, “I mean, I got a good head start. Kids love to meet a superhero, even if I don’t look like one anymore.” 

“ _Stevie._ ” Bucky groaned as heslid further down, resting his head on the pillow and facing Steve. He reached out a metal hand and gently wrapped it around Steve’s skinny forearm. “I’m glad you’re finally getting the chance to rest. You’ve earned it, bud.” 

“I know, Buck.” Steve sighed, hands folded in his lap. There was a beat of silence. Steve kept his head down. “I told Sam about us, about how close we are.” Steve knew it had been the right choice to keep his eyes away when he felt Bucky’s hand tense up. Another beat of silence.

“What’d he have to say about it?”

“He said I’m too scared of losing you, and that I shouldn’t be.” 

Gently, Bucky started making circles over Steve’s wrist with his thumb. 

“You know you can’t get rid of me that easy, right, Steve?” 

And just like before, Steve fell into his arms, burying his head in the space beneath Bucky’s chin. He wasn’t crying, just breathing in and out, his eyes gently closed. Bucky was rubbing his back, not saying a word. 

Then, “Stevie?”

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve pulled his head up and looked Bucky in the eye. It was that same look he got back on that hot summer afternoon. Completely open, completely willing. He was giving Steve _everything._

“Whatever this is, whatever you need this to be, I just want you to know that I love you, alright? And I always will.”

Steve's heart stopped beating.

“I love you too, Buck.” 

And then he was back in Bucky’s arms, and they were drifting off to sleep.

“Stevie—” Bucky whispered into his hair.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Did you take your medicine?”

Steve smiled.

“Yes, Buck, now go to sleep.” 

 


End file.
